


T4

by ladymac111



Series: Interstellar Medium [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Pidge POV, Schmoop, an awful lot of fluff for something that started out Pure Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8525359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymac111/pseuds/ladymac111
Summary: It started with a mistake.  Of course, that wasn't actually when it started, it started weeks before -- but that was when we all noticed.  When we realized that something was actually, really wrong with Hunk, and he never said anything, and I never noticed, and how could I not notice??Something's wrong.  I'm terrified, and the seven of us are still all but alone out here, and I don't know how we'll make this right again.  All I know is that somehow, we have to.  I won't lose him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place a few years in the future; Hunk and Pidge have been romantically involved for quite some time and they now share quarters in the castle. Klance in a very backgroundy way -- project whatever you like on them.
> 
> This is incredibly self-indulgent in many ways, so I hope other people enjoy it too.
> 
> Category tagged M/F and Other depending on how you headcanon Pidge's gender; to me she's genderqueer/demigirl.

Shiro is _furious_. Absolutely, steel-meltingly angry, and it's directed at Hunk, who, true to his nature, is already silently crying. He knows exactly what he did, and he has definitely already heard in his mind the epic chewing-out he's about to get.

Hunk drops heavily onto a bench and pulls his helmet off, lets it fall to the floor between his feet. He doesn't look up when Shiro storms up to him and lets loose.

"How could you _do_ that?!"

Hunk shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

"Goddamn right you are. Seriously, Hunk, how could you _do_ that? How could you let that happen?"

"I didn't try to."

"I should hope not!"

"Hey, back off!" Lance pushes past me, plants his hand in the center of Shiro's chest and gives him an aggressive shove; not that hard, but enough to upset his balance slightly and make him even angrier.

"Watch yourself, Lance," he warns.

" _You_ watch yourself!" Lance shouts. "Look at what you're doing! You're attacking Hunk for something that wasn't his fault."

"Lance, no," Hunk says quietly -- he's barely even arguing. "It _was_ my fault."

Lance whirls around, hands on his hips. "Bull fucking _shit_ ," he spits. "It was a random mistake. It was plain bad luck."

"We don't get to have bad luck," Shiro says. "We're Paladins of Voltron. We can't make mistakes like that."

Hunk hides his face in his hands, and my heart breaks, but I can't move, I'm frozen, speechless, paralyzed by both rage and horror. I feel Keith's hand on my shoulder, and I don't know if he thinks he's holding me back or comforting me. He's not doing either.

Shiro and Lance are yelling at each other now, at least, rather than at Hunk directly, thought it's obviously still about him. He keeps slouching down lower and lower, curling in on himself, hiding his face in the way that I know means he's crying and ashamed and crying even more because of the shame. It gives me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Me and Keith are still just standing here, and I'm sure he's thinking what I'm thinking: It was Hunk's fault. Of course he didn't mean to, and clearly he'd do anything to be able to undo it, but ... he's the one who did it. He fucked up and innocent people got hurt. I can't help blaming him, a little. I think Keith is doing it too. And I feel like absolute shit for it because he's blaming himself ten times as hard as the rest of us are.

Lance is getting really wound up, louder and louder, and he calls Shiro something I don't understand in Spanish but which is obviously supposed to be a terrible insult, at which Shiro goes suddenly cold with rage -- it's absolutely terrifying.

"You're out of line," he growls, and Lance, to his credit, does actually shrink back a bit.

This seems to be Keith's cue; he darts forward and takes Lance's elbow "I think it's retreat time."

Lance tries to shake him off, still making eye contact with Shiro. "I'm not done."

"Yes you are."

Keith pulls him to the side, and it's not clear whether he's overpowering Lance, or if Lance is actually retreating now. Shiro wilts a little bit too, and I seize the opportunity. I feel like I'm collapsing as I stumble to Hunk's side.

"Hey. Come on."

He's trembling, and it's obvious it takes a huge effort for him to pick up his head, and then his helmet, and climb slowly to his feet.

It's unsettling how much taking him back to our room feels like dragging him, and I wonder for a second if I could actually pick him up and just carry him. Probably not, if I'm being realistic -- I'm strong, but not as strong as that, plus the height difference causes problems. Not to mention, he was telling me he's put on a few kilos these past few months. He's even got new stretch marks to show for it, on his hips and belly.

But I still want to try carrying him. Anything to make this a little less awful....

By the time we make it to our bunk he looks completely exhausted, and I help him out of his armor first before getting changed myself. He puts on lounge pants and a tee, then sits on the edge of the bed, looking like he doesn't know what to do. I turn to him after I pull my shirt on over my head. "You should lie down."

He nods. "Okay."

And then he lies down on top of the blankets, which isn't really what I meant and doesn't exactly make sense. I'm about to tell him to get under the covers already, but the look on his face stops me, and my heart breaks. "Hunk ..."

His first sob happens all at once, loud and percussive in the enclosed space, and he continues as he began. Standing here watching him is unbearable, so I climb onto the bed beside him and pull him into the best hug I can manage, cradling his head to my chest.

I hold him in my arms while he weeps, and as the minutes go by I start feeling sick to my stomach again. Eventually the sobbing stops, and the tension drains bit by bit from his body, and finally I get the feeling that he's fallen asleep.

Something is wrong. Like, _really_ wrong. That mistake, it wasn't like him, and neither is this -- though, in fairness, Shiro has never gone off on one of us like that before. I can't really blame him for reacting badly to something so terrible and unexpected, especially given his anxiety. He's been doing a lot better, the last couple of years, but it's still there, still a part of him.

I look back down at the man I love -- he's dead asleep. And _dead_ is perhaps too good a word: his skin has been looking greyish recently, the skin around his eyes puffy, his hair dull and dry, and he's tired all the time. Plus he hasn't been eating much, and I don't know the last time he made love to me.

Something is definitely wrong with Hunk and I don't know how to find out what it is. It's been going on for a while, too; I don't know how long exactly. He's been writing it off as stress but I don't think that's it, it must be something more than that.

He needs help. _I_ need help.

I dig my communicator out of my pocket and text Lance: _You guys busy?_

His response is instant. _What do you need?_

_Talk. Meet you in the kitchen?_

_We're here now._

_Be right there._ I hesitate with my comm in my hand -- I don't want Hunk to wake up without me here. I send him a quick text: _if you need me I'm in the kitchen with the guys._ I doubt he'll wake up, but still.

His device makes a little tweeting noise from where he dropped it on his bedside table -- my message. Hunk doesn't stir at that, but he does a moment later when I push him aside enough to pull the blanket out and cover him with it. "Mahalo," he mutters, burying his face down into his pillow. His breathing is raspy. He didn't used to snore, but he does now, occasionally.

I kiss his forehead before I head out, and I try not to think that his skin feels cool. Why would his skin possibly be cool? He's always warm. My own personal space heater. I must be imagining it.

  


***

  


Keith and Lance are in the kitchen just as they said, sitting right up next to each other, looking troubled but not to the extent that I'm feeling.

"Shit, Pidge," Keith says, sitting up. "Are you okay?"

"No." I sit down in a chair across from them. "Something's wrong with Hunk."

"No kidding. This was ... it was wrong."

"I've been noticing he seems off," Lance says. "Not quite himself."

"Not himself at all," I say. "I think he's sick."

"Do you think it's contagious?" Keith says. "I mean, none of the rest of us are sick."

"I don't know. It's been going on for a while, I think, a few weeks at least? I'd think I'd have caught it by now if it was some kind of germ."

Lance leans forward on his elbows. "But if it's not a germ, what else could it be?"

"I wish I knew."

"There's all kinds of things that could make him like that," Keith says. "I mean ... I used to watch medical dramas, when I was young. If we had any doctors here we could probably do tests and figure it out. Like, whether it's a parasite or some kind of autoimmune thing."

"You don't think the Altean medical stuff would find it?" Lance says.

Keith shrugs. "No idea. But Allura and Coran don't seem to have noticed anything's wrong."

"They have a lot on their plates," I say. "And maybe they _have_ noticed, but they haven't said anything to us. I mean, he's been unwell for a while. It's just never ... I don't know. It's never been as bad as it was today."

"What if it is some kind of autoimmune thing?" Lance says. "Could they even treat that? Like, human medical technology isn't even that good. Best we can do is manage the effects."

Keith gives him a disbelieving look. "How do you know so much?"

"My sister has diabetes. We all learned a lot about it when she got diagnosed. And I think my mom has a thing with her thyroid or something, but she doesn't talk about it. I know she sees an endocrinologist and takes a pill every day."

Keith looks back at me. "Maybe Hunk has a family history of something."

I shake my head. "If he does, he's never told me. And if it's on his dad's side he wouldn't know."

Keith leans his face on his fist, dejected. "Where's Dr. House when you need him?"

Lance drapes his arm over Keith's shoulder and kind of slumps onto him. "Fictional."

"Right."

"I think you're right to be worried," Lance says. "He hasn't cooked for us in, like, weeks. He's definitely not himself."

I nod. "I know. And he's been sleeping a lot but he's always tired."

"He's never on the training deck in our down time these days," Keith adds. "You guys haven't called leg day in like two months."

"This is what I'm saying," I agree. "And ... I know he's been trying to hide it from everyone, but his anxiety has been really bad recently. Worse than it's been in a long time."

Lance leans forward. "How bad is it?"

I almost feel like I shouldn't tell them, but at the same time I think they need to know. He can't possibly keep doing this alone. "He ... he's been crying a lot. He tries to hide it from me, even, so it's probably happening times I don't know about it. He's really overwhelmed. And...." I can't help hesitating; _god_ this is so personal, but I can't keep it to myself any more. "He was sick last week, after that mission. Couldn't keep anything down for two whole days, and he told me he didn't eat at all leading up to the mission or during. I'm sure it was nerves."

"I'm sure it was," Keith says softly.

"And he's never been that bad, he always steps up. Something is really wrong, that's why he fucked up today." I shake my head. "This isn't him."

"What if he's been, like, possessed?" Lance asks, and Keith rolls his eyes.

"What, by an evil spirit that just wants to sleep all the time?"

"By an evil alien that wants to steal away Team Voltron's strongest member."

"That's ridiculous," Keith says. "You've watched too much Star Trek."

"More ridiculous than a mysterious autoimmune disease?"

"Yes," I say.

"But it's never lupus." This earns Lance a whack upside the head from Keith.

"One time it was lupus," Keith says.

Lance looks at me. "Hunk doesn't have lupus, does he?"

"I don't know what the symptoms are," I say.

"They're vague, I think," Keith says sadly. "Nonspecific. Kind of just ... mysterious illness."

"Fuck." I put my head down on the table. "We're not going to figure anything out like this."

"You should talk to Hunk," Lance says. "See if he knows about anything in his family."

"And we'll talk to Shiro," Keith adds. "He was out of line today. I'm sure he's noticed Hunk isn't himself, we just ... I'll talk to him."

I fold my arms and prop my chin on my wrists. "What if we can't figure it out?"

"Don't say that," Lance says firmly. "We'll get it."

I don't think I believe him, and I'm willing myself not to cry. "If you say so."

"It'll be okay," Keith murmurs. "We've gotten through everything so far. We'll get through this."

"If you say so," I say again.

"And he's got you," Lance says. "He _adores_ you. The two of you together can get through anything."

This time I can't hold back the tears, and I hide my face in my arms again. I want to believe him, I want to _so much_ , and I usually believe Lance even when I don't want to. But right now ... I don't. I _don't_ believe that we can get through this. It feels completely hopeless.

"Pidge," Keith says softly. "I know ... I know you don't believe us right now. I know everything seems terrible." He pauses, like he's waiting for me to say something, and finally continues when I don't answer him. "But this thing that's going on with him is almost definitely a medical thing. And if there's one thing Alteans are good at, it's medicine."

That's when the crying really starts. I don't even know what I'm feeling right now but it's all spilling out of me, a mess of tears and snot and embarrassing noises and I'm powerless to stop it.

Someone touches my elbow. I think it's Lance. I keep crying.

Finally I pull myself together. I'm not done with this, not by a long shot -- there's so much more of this inside me but at least now I can keep it in rather than spilling it all over Keith and Lance. I pick my head up; my glasses are smudged and speckled with salt droplets, and the whole world is filthy and blurry. It feels appropriate but also it's making me feel even shittier, so I pull them off and start working at them with the hem of my shirt.

"You hungry at all?" Keith says.

I shake my head; I feel even sicker than I did before. I keep trying to polish my glasses.

"I think maybe you should go to bed," Lance murmurs. "We'll talk to Shiro."

"God, Shiro." I drop my hands on my lap. "Tomorrow is going to suck so hard."

"It'll be all right," Lance says. "Me and Keith will take care of it. You just go rest, be with Hunk."

I put my glasses back on; they're not clean yet, not even much better than before. I push the chair back and get to my feet. My limbs feel weird. "Okay. Good night."

 

***

 

Hunk sleeps through our alarm. Which didn't used to happen, but it has been, recently. Normally I shake him, get him up and moving, but today ... it just seems cruel. I let him sleep and head off for the morning workout.

Shiro is acting normal, but Keith and Lance both give me knowing looks, so I'm sure they did speak to him like they said they would. And Shiro doesn't say anything about Hunk not being here, so it must be ... some version of okay.

Everyone is all business for the workout, more so than usual, but it works for me. I don't have anything to say, and working up a sweat is familiar, it feels safe. I know what's going on here, even if I don't in anything else. I can nearly turn off my worrying. Nearly.

I stayed up for a few hours after I went back to mine and Hunk's room last night, working on the three code projects I've got going, and I was hoping he would wake up but he didn't. Slept right through.

When we're done Shiro stops me before I can go back to my room to shower, and I feel like a little kid again, like I've done something wrong and I want to avoid him. "Pidge."

"Hey. Sorry, but I smell bad."

"I know, just ... just give me a minute. I wanted to say I'm sorry for flying off the handle yesterday." He looks appropriately contrite, at least.

"Thanks," I say, because I'm not sure what else to do.

"I know that Hunk isn't okay. That he hasn't been for a while. I guess ... I didn't know what it was. Keith and Lance told me last night they think it's medical, they think he's sick, and I think they're right."

I nod. "He's definitely not okay."

Shiro shifts, and I think he might reach out to touch me, but he doesn't. "We'll find out what it is. You talk to him first, find out what you can, then come to me and Allura. We'll get him better."

It feels less impossible now than it did last night, and I nod again, still not sure what to say, and he steps aside. "As soon as you can would be good," Shiro murmurs, and I pause, feeling suddenly like I'm going to cry and clamping down on it as hard as I can.

"Okay," I manage, and I walk out the door before anything else can happen.

 

***

 

Hunk is still sleeping when I get back, and I hop in the shower right away so at least he won't wake up to see me totally failing to hold myself together. Mainly I can't believe it's taken me so long to finally admit that something is really wrong. He's been _suffering_ and I've been coming up with excuses to dismiss it instead of actually paying attention to the man I love. I feel like it's my fault it's got so far, him sleeping for now twelve hours straight. I can't believe I've _done_ this to him.

When I finally really let go of all of that, it pours out quickly, tension and tears and guilt washed down the drain with the water and soap. And then I can finally pay attention to myself, to the aching in my pecs and triceps and quads from the workout, and my own fatigue from all of this emotional thing ... and that bright-burning spark of love for Hunk that made a home in the center of me years ago.

I'm going to make this better.

I turn off the shower, comb my hair, dry myself. Shiro didn't say anything about a schedule for the day so I'm going to go ahead and assume free time unless something comes up, and I put on comfortable clothes.

I glance at Hunk's ticker on his desk -- he likes to use it rather than my adjusted Earth-time clock, for some reason -- and it turns out I was in the shower for a while, the other guys have probably already finished breakfast. I'm sure our absence was conspicuous but that can't be my concern right now. It's peripheral, secondary.  Hunk has to come first.

I sit down on the edge of the mattress, pushing Hunk's thighs slightly away with my hip to make a space for myself in the center of where he's curled up on his side. He doesn't respond to that, so I rub his shoulder gently. "Hey."

"Uh." He's clearly still completely unconscious.

"Hunk, it’s time to wake up. It's getting late."

He opens his eyes, looks at me, seems disoriented. "Wuh?"

"I said you should get up. It's late."

He's trying to sit up in bed, and I shuffle a little to give him some space. "How late?"

"Past breakfast."

"Shit," he groans, rubbing both hands over his face. "Why would you let me sleep so long? Shiro's going to kill me."

"No, he -- it's okay. Lance and Keith talked to him last night."  I take a deep breath to try to steady myself; I'm shaking for some reason. "We think there's something medically wrong with you."

He looks up, confused. "Medically?"

"This obviously isn't normal." I cross my arms over my chest. "I know you've been trying to act like you're okay but you're not, you're really not. And we have to figure out what's going on and treat you for it."

His shoulders sag. "You're making a big deal. I've just ... I just need to pull myself together."

"You know that's not it." I suddenly need to be touching him, so I lay my hand on his knee. "This isn't you at all."

The exhaustion is so clear on his face. "Maybe you're right."

"Keith wondered if maybe it was autoimmune."

He huffs something that might be a laugh, but it has a dark edge. "Did you tell him it's never lupus?"

"Yeah, we made the obligatory pop culture references. But I think he might be right. I mean, not than I know anything about autoimmune diseases. Except that they sometimes run in families, according to Lance."

"Lance knows things?"

I almost smile. "Apparently his sister has diabetes, and he thinks his mom has something too, said she takes a pill for it."

Hunk blinks, and I can see the moment the pieces suddenly fall into place. "My mom has Hashimoto's."

I was sort of hoping for something that meant a little more to me. "What?"

"Hashimoto's thyroiditis." He says it kind of slowly, like he's struggling to get his tongue to cooperate. "It's an autoimmune disease, messes with your thyroid. She's had it since I was a baby."

My heart is pounding and I'm almost afraid to hope. "Could this be what you have?"

"Yeah. I bet you anything my problem is that I'm hypothyroid." He looks like he's about to cry from relief. "We just have to figure out how to treat it."

"How's it normally treated?"

"Just by replacing the thyroid hormone synthetically, my mom takes a pill every day. You mentioning Lance jogged my memory."

The tension in my chest unspools all of a sudden, and I grab Hunk's forearm. "Is it really that simple? Just a pill?"

He gets that gentle look on his face, the one I haven't seen in a while, and suddenly I feel like things might actually be okay. "It's simple if they have Synthroid in space," he says with forced nonchalance.

"They made synthetic progesterone for me, I bet they can do that. They can do that, right?"

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me halfway into his lap. "I'm gonna be okay, Pidge."

"You shouldn't be comforting me, I'm comforting you." I grab on and hold him as tight as I can. "Fuck, I'm so glad."

He rubs my back gently. "We don't know for sure yet."

"Occam's razor." I bury my face in his shoulder. "All your symptoms fit hypothyroidism?"

"I mean, I'm not an expert, but exhaustion and weight gain seem pretty textbook. Not to mention brain fog." He tightens his arms around me. "It slows your metabolism. Everything gets sluggish."

"It wouldn't kill you, would it?"

"It would take a while, I think. I don't know if I'm hypo enough that it would ever happen."

"It'll never get that far. I'd take you home myself if I had to. I can't lose you."

"You won't."

"I really mean it." I pick myself up enough that I can look at him, and set my hand on his cheek, which is slightly rough with stubble. "You're everything to me."

He shakes his head gently. "I'm not everything."

I huff a little laugh. "Well, okay. But you're my top thing. I never want to be apart from you."

He smiles, and takes my hand. "Me too."

My heart thunders, and maybe I should think about this before I say it, but I'm not going to. Now's the time and this isn't going to wait. "I mean I want to be with you for the rest of my life." My voice comes out low, almost a whisper.

He blinks at me a few times with a shocked look on his face, and when he speaks, he stutters. "P-Pidge, I-I-I--"

"No, Hunk, it's okay, you don't--"

"Shut up." He takes my face in both of his hands and kisses me hard. It's a mess, frankly; desperate and a little gaspy and my glasses were already slightly askew and we finally break apart when they actually fall off my face. I grab them and replace them on my nose, and they're horribly smudged.

Hunk's hands are still holding me right here, one on my cheek still and the other on my shoulder now. Both of my hands have found their way to the center of his chest, clutching at his shirt. "You're something else, Pidge."

"What?"

"Give me a chance to catch up before you decide I don't feel the same.  You know I'm laggy."

My breath catches, and all I can do is repeat myself. "What?"

He smiles again, nervous and beautiful and full of hope. "I want to be yours forever."

I feel like something in my heart is shorting out, throwing sparks everywhere. I can't seem to get a handle on what exactly I'm feeling. "Really?"

He smiles gently. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

I lean in and kiss him, and he folds me up in his arms, holds me there, completely wrapped up in him.

"Marry me," I whisper.

"I will. Yes." He kisses me again, even longer this time. This moment is perfect, flawless, incandescent. But too soon I can feel him getting tired, drawing back. His illness makes everything exhausting.

He sighs slowly. "Is it okay if it's not right away?"

"Yeah, of course, that's fine."

"Okay." He relaxes a bit more, and I can see his face again. "I'd like to give you a ring. I mean, I don't have one, but I'll find one at some point."

"I wouldn't wear anything, like ... blingy."

"I know. We can choose together, whatever you want."

I smile at him. "Will you wear one too?"

"I'll wear anything you give me. Are we talking engagement rings or wedding rings?"

"I think maybe we're getting ahead of ourselves."

"Maybe a little." He pauses and licks his lips. "How would you feel about a church wedding?"

"Church? Really?"

"Yeah, just ... I should tell you now, I've always wanted to get married in my mom's church in Hilo."

"The Episcopal one?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"That's fine. As long as I don't have to promise to obey you."

He grins. "I'd never make you do that."

"And they wouldn't mind that we're not religious?"

He shrugs. "They're Hawaiian Episcopalians, they're very chill."

"Do I have to wear a dress?"

"You can wear anything you want."

I'm feeling giddy now. "Is it okay if we don't tell anyone about this yet?"

"Definitely. This is just for us right now."

"Okay. Good." I brush a lock of hair off his forehead. "This won't change anything?"

"Why would anything change? I've felt this way for a while, and I'm sure you have too."

"I have."

"Yeah. The only difference now is we both know."

"I feel different.  In a good way."

"I know. Me too." He pauses, thinking. "I feel ... more."

"I feel kind of like the first time you kissed me."

"I feel like the first time you said you love me. But, like, an extra order of magnitude."

I touch his cheek because I can't stand not to. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He closes his eyes and leans slightly into my touch, and the tiredness is back in his expression again. "I have an autoimmune thyroid disorder."

"Probably."

"Yeah, probably." He blinks his eyes open, and it looks like it takes a big effort. "Can we go tell the others so I can start on Synthroid and get back to feeling like myself?"

"Oh, god, right." I stand up, and offer him my hand. He doesn't need it, probably, but he takes it anyway, and I like to feel like I'm helping. "Let's go see if Alteans can detect hypothyroidism in humans."

 

***

 

It turns out that Alteans _can_ detect hypothyroidism, and they do, right away as soon as we tell them what to look for. They're confused as hell about the cause, though -- apparently they solved autoimmune diseases so long ago that Allura and Coran didn't even know what they were, until they looked it up. But the solution is easy enough, since they already worked out how to manufacture human hormones. They do, however, spend a while puzzling over the holographic representation of Hunk's swollen thyroid, comparing it to a scan of Lance's since he volunteered it "for science." Even Keith gets in on the gawking.  I have a hard time looking at it.

Hunk gets his first dose almost immediately, though I can tell he has reservations about the absorbing-through-the-skin thing -- he grew up watching his mom take a pill, and I know that's how he'll feel most comfortable, but that's an argument for another time. After his T4 comes back up to semi-normal levels and he feels like himself again, then he can fight Coran over how exactly to take his medication.

Shiro seems more relieved than anything, which I can definitely identify with. Keith and Lance are _ecstatic._ Partly about being right, because of course they are, and partly because Hunk is going to be okay.

God, _he's going to be okay._ I almost don't believe it. I feel like I've been worried for years, though I know it's only been a few weeks, maybe a couple of months since he started showing symptoms. Or, well, since we noticed them. Who knows how long this has actually been going on.

But it's over now. Or at least, this is the beginning of the end. Apparently it's going to take a couple days for the thyroid hormones to get back up to the proper levels, and it could take quite some time -- weeks, they said -- to get the right dose for him, so he feels normal. I thought maybe the Altean medical stuff would be able to just work it out but they say with thyroids the dosing is so fine that the amount he needs to take is based heavily on how his body absorbs the synthetic version, which we won't know until he's actually doing it.

So, I guess ... he's not better yet, but he _will_ be. And now we know for sure.

 

***

 

I wake up gradually, which is a rare treat in the castle. I'm warm in bed, wrapped up in just the right amount of blankets, and I can feel Hunk's warmth radiating off him from where he's lying beside me. He actually is warm again, now that he's been on his medication for a week. His knee nudges mine, and I think he knows I'm awake; I open my eyes.

He's watching me sleepily, but sleepy in a lazy contented way, not in a can't-wake-up way. I never thought I'd be able to tell the difference, or be so relieved to see it. Tears well in my eyes, and I can't rub them away without him seeing. I do it anyway.

His expression takes a turn for the concerned. "Okay?"

"Great." I take a deep breath; we haven't really talked about this yet. "I'm just really glad. That you're doing better, I mean."

He smiles gently. "I'm sorry you had to worry."

"Oh my god, _Hunk._ " I extract my hand from the blankets and put it on his cheek, and he closes his eyes contentedly. "You're not allowed to apologize. None of this was your fault."

His eyes open again. "But maybe if I--"

"No."

"But, I'm saying, if--"

"Hunk."

"Listen. I could have remembered about my mom's Hashimoto's."

"Why would you have, though? Your symptoms were -- what do they call it? Nonspecific? You didn't know those were autoimmune symptoms."

"I could have guessed. I could have talked to Keith."

I almost laugh. "Keith isn't a doctor. He got all his knowledge from medical dramas on TV."

"Still, though, some of it is real knowledge. And didn't you say he's the one who suggested an autoimmune disease?"

"Yeah, but it seemed like Lance was halfway there too."

He sighs. "I'm just saying ... I could have talked to someone. I knew something was going on, but ... I don't know, I thought I was just not trying hard enough or something."

"You know that's not true."

"I know. I mean, well ... I know that now."

"Don't blame yourself," I say. "Really, please don't. I love you way too much to be okay with that."

He gives me a sad little smile.  “I’ll try.”

“And you’re doing better now.”

“Yeah, I’m lots better than I was.”  He gathers my hands is his, and brings my fingers to his lips for a little kiss.  “I’d almost forgotten what normal feels like.  It’s kind of neat, not being constantly exhausted.”

My heart thumps awkwardly in my chest.  “And the patches are okay?”

He shrugs, and keeps holding onto my hands; he’s sort of absentmindedly looking at my fingers now.  “They’re doing the job.  I can get used to them, I think.  And Coran told me pills would have to be taken on an empty stomach to make sure they absorb right, so that would be a hassle to coordinate.”

“Yeah.”

“And this way we’ve both got patches.  We can even change them at the same time.”

I’m not normally conscious of my contraceptive patch, but when he mentions it suddenly I can feel it, on my butt this week.  His thyroxine patch is on his upper arm.  “As long as we don’t get them mixed up.”

He glances up at me with a smile.  “I kind of doubt that’ll happen.”  Coran designed them to nearly match our skin tones, which means there’s essentially no way of accidentally switching them.

I stroke my hand over the top of his head. “I think your hairline’s receding on the sides here.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

“Do you think it's related to the thyroid thing?”

“No, I think it's male pattern baldness and that I'm closer to 30 than to 20 now.”

I let my hand linger on the back of his head, twisting gently in his hair.  He’s been letting it grow long -- nearly long enough to pull back now, in contrast to mine, which I recently cut very short.  “You’re not that old.”

“I’m twenty-six,” he says.  “And you’re twenty-five in a month.”

“Bite your tongue.”

He sticks it out at me instead, and his eyes sparkle.  I lean in to set my forehead against his and let our breaths mingle, even though I know we both need to brush our teeth.  In response he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me even closer.

“Do you still want to get married?” he murmurs, and I know this is just him worrying, like he always does; he doesn’t actually doubt me.  Though we haven't actually talked about it at all since last week, when it first came up.

“Every minute of every day.”  My answer is as easy as breathing.

“Really?”

“Really really.”

“Me too.”

“I know.”

He hesitates for a moment.  “I want to have kids with you.  Someday.”

“Me too."  This I _have_ thought about -- I considered it in depth when I started using contraception, and I absolutely want to have his children.  "I mean, eventually.  Like, once we get home.”

“Yeah, after we get back and things aren't all life-and-deathy all the time."  He takes a slow breath.  "Whenever that will be.”

"It'll happen."  I kiss him gently.  “I’m going to have my whole future with you.  All of it.”

“You can have it.  You can have me.”

“I think I do already.”

He chuckles, breathy and light, and rolls halfway on top of me, pressing me into the soft pillowtop of our mattress.  “Yeah, you definitely do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I may have got some medical details wrong or improbable, because I went off the top of my head with most of this and only spent a little time digging in Wikipedia.
> 
> T4 is another name for thyroxine, the primary thyroid hormone and the one you have to replace when yours stops working.


End file.
